Arm in Arm with a Witch
by xX you're my good thing Xx
Summary: Hale/OC - "This was the minister from Beverly, with something to prove and someone to save. A combination like that made him unstoppable." OR The one where there's nothing like summer in Salem: someone under stress meets a someone with a willing ear and a mind of her own.
1. The Minister From Beverly

_Ah, well. We all know the way to my soul is through reviews, and lo-and-behold - I'm writing again! My sincerest apologies for the wait, and extending to the fact that I'm editing all the chapters before I toss out something new. So sorry._

_Actually, I'm rewriting this mostly so I don't have to look at my old A/Ns. *covers eyes*_

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It was draftier in the carriage than Reverend John Hale had expected, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him. He sighed; it would be another good hour until he reached Salem; and there he would be put to work immediately. Hale wished he could rest, but it seemed that the moment his eyelids closed, the carriage would encounter another bump in the road, and there were many. To busy himself instead, he pondered over the letter that had sent him from his home in Beverly to Salem. Witches! Hale reread Parris's words, almost memorised by now, and the same passage stuck out at him each time.

_'I fear for my daughter's life, Reverend, and as you have so much experience with witchcraft, I believe you to be the only person who can free her from Satan's grasp.'_

Hale worried that Parris had jumped to conclusions too quickly, but he had to admit to himself that he was excited to examine the afflicted girl. The 'witch' in Beverly last year had turned out not to be a witch at all, and while Hale was glad that Satan was not loose in his hometown, it still remained that he had no experience with a real witch. He was flattered, of course, by Parris's kindness, but oh _Lord_ – if there was even the slightest hesitation, lives could be at risk. Hale was mostly confident in his abilities, though; he had not spent many years studying the Old Boy's ways simply to be befuddled at their first encounter. No, Hale felt more than prepared. This was what he'd been waiting for: the chance of a lifetime.

Hale leaned farther back into his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The carriage clattered over a set of sharp stones, making its only passenger bounce. Hale sighed, and a sharp inhale as the carriage rounded a sharp corner prompted the man to cough. He frowned; he had not been entirely well when he left Beverly on such short notice, though he didn't believe it would be anything serious. Besides, there were far more important things to be worried about. If witchcraft was the cause of the girls' affliction, Hale would put an end to it. He had made that vow to himself when he'd began studying the Devil, and since the day he became a reverend.

Since he could not sleep, Hale opened up his Bible, easily finding the well-worn pages that contained his favorite passages. It was easy to lose himself in the familiar words, and did not even realize when he began to nod off. It seemed that almost immediately, the driver opened up his door to alert him of their arrival.

"Reverend?" the voice seemed to come from ages away. "Mister Hale, we've arrived."

"Hm? I'm afraid I don't understand…," Hale said absently, trailing off, before awakening fully and realizing where he was. "Oh, I'm sorry," he murmured, embarrassed. "Thank you." He loaded some of his books into his arms and stepped out of the carriage, wondering how he was going to carry all the heavy volumes, before seeing the large crowd that had gathered.

For a moment he didn't move, pausing on his way out of the carriage. Hale was a young reverend, if learned, but no one worth gathering for. A fleeting thought skittered across his consciousness, wondering if these people were really there for him. But it seemed so, after all, and they appeared to be waiting. Waiting for what? (Hale really was a bit slow on the uptake, but must be forgiven – he'd only just woken up, after all.)

_You. They want you to say something. Say something intelligent. _All he could think of, though, was the weight of five books piled high in his arms and the embarrassment of this moment in front of so many people.

"Pray you, someone take these!" he cried, his tone a mixture of delight and exhaustion. _Yes, John. Very intelligent. A lovely first impression. _Hale couldn't keep his cheeks from flushing, though he wouldn't have to wait long.

"Mr. Hale!" said Reverend Parris delightedly, stepping out of the crowd. "Oh! It's good to see you again!"

Inwardly, Hale reflected that he couldn't have said the same. The two of them weren't the best of friends back at Harvard, engaging in heated debates and sometimes all out war (the school had been divided between the two of them for a month until the professors put a stop to it). Hale wasn't exactly the most popular of people, but his ideas were sound and his morals remained intact. The reason Parris hadn't taken the brunt of a verbal lashing yet was because Hale refused to speak badly of anyone. Luckily, Parris had graduated in Hale's first year, avoiding any long-lasting conflicts, and it appeared that the man may have matured. Hale was, however, quite grateful when Parris took three books from his arms.

"My, they're heavy!" Parris remarked, making easy conversation.

"They must be; they're weighted with authority," Hale said with a proud smile, his voice as pleasant and dry as it always was.

"Well, you do come prepared!" Parris replied, and Hale could've sworn he heard intimidation lurking in the tone of a man at least ten years his elder. Rebecca Nurse stepped out next from the crowd, and Hale was delighted to finally meet the woman he'd admired from a distance for so long.

His kind words for her were entirely genuine; the woman's smile was more than worth it. If only everyone – man or woman – were more like Rebecca Nurse, the world would be a better place.

Hale's kind words for Thomas Putnam - "I had not expected such distinguished company, sir!" – were a bit less sincere, but he knew that all people deserved to be treated with respect. Suppressing any initial urge may be hard, but Hale believed that he should let an individual's action speak for them later on.

"Will you come to my home next, reverend?" Putnam asked, in the same conversational time gentlemen always used. Hale had apparently missed those lessons – he was always too earnest, and out of his depth. Now was one of those times.

"Do I have business there?" Hale said, cautiously polite but confused. He had no objections, of course, but needed to know the purpose of the visit before adding it to his schedule.

"Aye," said Goody Putnam, from her husband's side. A single look at the woman made it clear that she was distraught. "My daughter – Ruth – is also afflicted. She walks, and yet…"

"She cannot eat," Putnam explained, and for a moment his arrogance melted away.

"Cannot eat!" Hale exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. This situation was becoming far graver than he'd originally thought. No wonder there were quite so many who'd come to see him – oh, goodness, did they all require his services? The courage he'd felt in the carriage was gone, replaced by a looming sense of inadequacy. Surely Salem would be better off in the hands of someone older, with more experience.

Alas – Hale would do his very best. "Do you too have afflicted children?" he asked the other two men at the front of the crowd. He wondered darkly how many other children in Salem were ill, and was flooded with an overwhelming sense of concern for them all.

"No, no, these are farmers," Parris replied hurriedly, disdain colouring his tone. Hale hardly resisted a frown. "John Proctor –"

"He don't believe in witches," said the older man bluntly, who was shorter, with a wiry, muscular build.

"I never spoke on witches one way or the other," replied the other mildly, whom, Hale assumed, could only be John Proctor. The two of them seemed comfortable with each other, and Hale – an alien in this town – was momentarily envious. Proctor gestured towards the fields, "Will you come, Giles?"

"No –no, John, I think not," Giles replied, as stout and firm as he looked. "I have some few queer questions of my own to ask this fellow."

Hale couldn't help feeling a bit flattered – something told him praise wasn't evenly doled out from this hardened farmer – and even more so when Proctor nodded and said, "I've heard you to be a sensible man, Mister Hale. I hope you'll leave some of it in Salem." Hale stared down at his feet for a minute, cheeks flushed.

Quickly after Proctor's departure, Parris led Hale down the dirt road, into his home, and up to where his daughter lay. Parris chartered on while Hale looked elsewhere, uncomfortable with the situation. Their arguments lurked in the back of his mind, resolved only by Parris's graduation.

Once they arrived, though, it was easy to speak again. The scene was chilling and eerie; the girl lay as though sleeping, but the air around her was still and lifeless. If not for the steady up-down rhythm of her chest, Hale would've thought she was a corpse.

"There must be a cause for it," he murmured, mostly to himself. Observing her alone led Hale to become more convinced each second that the answer lay in the Invisible World. The world seemed to spin into sharp focus, narrowed down to this single moment. Here, now, doing what he'd intended to do his entire life – this made it all worth it. If he could save Betty Parris, he had succeeded. He could save all the afflicted.

Efficiently, Hale strode over to the stack of books Parris had set down and hefted his favorite one, another well-worn volume. He was deep into reading it, trying in vain to find something about sleeping curses; he knew it was present because he'd read it before. Hale flipped back to the Table of Contents, and started scanning the chapters.

"Goody Ann! You sent a child to conjure up the dead?" It was Rebecca Nurse, and she was horrified. Her voice shattered Hale's concentration, but immediately peaked his curiosity.

"Pardon?" Hale asked blandly, mildly disturbed, but intrigued as well. He kept his tone neutral even as possibilities sped like thoroughbreds through his mind.

"Mister Parris's slave has knowledge of conjuring, Reverend," Goody Putnam explained, voice trembling with defensive rage. "I sent my Ruth to Tituba to see if she could find out who murdered my babies. Who murdered her sisters!" she wailed. Hale raised one eyebrow.

"It was only last night," Parris said, tone twisted in ugly fury. "It was last night when I found them dancing," he continued bitterly. "Ten or twelve of them, dancing like heathens in the forest!"

Shocked, Hale directed what little attention was left on the book to the matter at hand. It landed with a thud back on the table as if to emphasise his point, wide eyed. If only he had known _this_ – why, no wonder. "You permit dancing?" he asked in shocked awe. A reverend's daughter, dancing like a heathen in the forest.

"No –no, it was secret," Parris said hurriedly, and Hale again found himself reflecting on a detached amusement at how the much older minister was once again intimidated by him. It was hardly present now, though, just passing fancy – his mind was fixed on the development that had just only come to light.

"But murder," Hale cried, trying in vain to tie the two subjects together. "What is this talk of murder?"

"Mister Hale," Goody Putnam said, gaining enough resolve to look him in the eye. "Mister Hale, is it a natural work to lose seven children before they live a day?"

"Seven dead in childbirth," Hale repeated, though he did not properly answer.

"Aye." Goody Putnam's voice broke, and she turned away.

At a loss for words, Hale returned his attention to his books. He eventually found the part about sleeping curses, and a silence fell over the waiting group.

"What book is that?" Parris asked in a hushed voice, as though the time required respect. I am in every way your inferior, Hale thought drily. And you still are afraid. Why?

"What's there, sir?" Goody Putnam added, sharp and shrewd as ever. Hale's eyes gleamed with unmasked pride; these books meant so much to him.

"Here is all the Invisible World, caught, defined and calculated," he said, running a hand along the soft, worn leather cover. "In these books the Devil stands stripped of all his brute disguises. Here are all your familiar spirits –your incubi and succubi; your witches that go by air, land, and sea; your wizards of the night and of the day. Have no fear now – we shall find him if he has come out among us, and I mean to crush him utterly if he has shown his face!"

There was no applause, only deference. There was no reaction but silent awe. There was no visible exchange of power, but something had shifted. Hale was in his element fully, and as he took his place by Betty Parris's bedside, there were no objections.

This was the minister from Beverly, with something to prove and someone to save. A combination like that made him unstoppable.


	2. The Devil Lands In Salem

**Hey there guys and welcome to chapter two of A Kiss on the Gallows! Yes, we haven't yet met our other main character (her name's Tanya), but you know! She'll show up soon *cough* the next chapter *cough* and all will be merry! Happy December and stuff! Don't forget to review since a whole five people have read this since I first posted it! Also, I'd be thrilled if SoldierOfPassion would read my fanfic since I got so much inspiration from hers. So see you soon, happy reading, au revoir et a demain! (10 points if you know what that means)**

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The Devil was beginning to frustrate Hale. He'd tried everything the book had said, yet it didn't work: Betty Parris lay as still as ever.

"Betty," Parris warned, "Answer Mister Hale!"

Silence. Betty continued to be limp in Hale's arms, and with a defeated sigh, he gently lay her back on the bed. With a sudden flash of inspiration and suspicion, he turned to Abigail.

"What kind of dancing were you doing in the forest?" he asked.

"Why – common dancing is all," Abigail said timidly.

"I ought to say I thought I saw a kettle in the grass," Parris interrupted importantly.

"That were only soup!" Abigail said hurriedly, obviously trying to cover something up. Hale jumped on her nervousness.

"Are you sure there was nothing _living _in the kettle?" he asked determinedly. Abigail blanched and took a frightened step back.

"That jumped in, we never put it in!" she cried.

"What jumped in?" Hale asked, seizing his opportunity and stepping closer to the petrified Abigail.

"Why, a very little frog jumped-" she began, her voice trembling.

"A _frog, _Abby!" Parris said, horrified. Hale knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with this method of questioning. He stepped up to Abigail and grasped her by the shoulders.

"Abigail, it may be that your cousin is dying," he thundered. "Dying! Now, answer me honestly: did you call the Devil last night?" Terrified, Abigail wrenched herself from him and pressed herself against the wall.

"I never called him!" she insisted, but then broke down. "It was Tituba – Tituba, Tituba…"

"I would like to speak with this Tituba," Hale said, his manner so resolved and affirmative that no one dared to question him.

"Goody Putnam, will you bring her up?" Parris asked. The woman left, her feet clattering on the stairs.

"How did she call him?" Hale asked, turning back to Abigail again.

"I know not," Abby replied. "She spoke Barbados."

"Did you feel any strangeness when she called him? A cold wind, perhaps? A trembling below the ground?" Hale asked persistently.

"I didn't see no Devil!" Abby claimed. She averted her eyes from Hale's and importantly made her way to Betty's bed. "Betty, wake up. Betty! Betty!"

"You cannot evade me, Abigail," Hale warned. "Did your cousin drink any of the brew in that kettle?"

"She never drank it!"

"Did you drink it?" Hale asked.

"No, sir!" Abigail said.

"Did Tituba ask you to drink it?"

"She tried, but I refused," Abby said.

"Why are you concealing?" Hale began, but Goody Putnam entered with Tituba at that moment. Abigail pointed an accusing finger at her.

"She made me do it! She made Betty do it!" _Here we go, _Hale thought. _This is what I was trying to get from her. _

"Abby!" Tituba scolded.

"She makes me drink blood!" Abby screamed.

"Blood!" Parris cried.

"My baby's blood?" Goody Putnam asked, almost eagerly.

"No, no, chicken blood," Tituba tried to explain. "I give she chicken blood!"

"Woman, have you enlisted for the Devil?" Hale asked.

"No, no sir!" Tituba said.

"Then why can she not wake? Are you silencing this child?"

"I love me Betty!" Tituba cried.

"You have sent her spirit out on this child, have you not?" Hale asked fervently. "Are you gathering souls for the Devil?"

"She sends her spirit on me in church; she make me laugh at prayer!" Abigail shrieked. "She come to me every night to go and drink blood!"

"You beg _me _to conjure!" Tituba protested.

"Don't lie!" Abby warned. "Sometimes, I find myself in an open doorway in the black of night. I hear her singing those Barbados songs, and tempting me with-"

"Mister Reverend, I never-"

"Tituba," Hale said, resolved. "I want you to wake this child."

"I have no power on this child, sir."

"You most certainly do," said Hale. "You will free her, and free her now!"

"This woman must be hanged!" Putnam threatened. "She must be taken and hanged!" Tituba immediately fell to her knees and sobbed.

"No, no, don't hang Tituba!" she cried. "I tell him I don't desire to work for him, sir."

"The Devil?" Parris said hungrily.

"Then you saw him!" Hale triumphed. Tituba nodded and pressed her face to her palms. "Now Tituba, I know that when we bind ourselves to the Devil it is very hard to break free. We are going to help you tear yourself free-"

"Mister Reverend, I believe someone else be witchin' these children," Tituba said, frightened.

"Who?"

"I don't know, sir, but the Devil got him numerous witches."

"Does he!" Hale said, making a mental note of this. "Tituba, look into my eyes. Come, look into me." Tituba raised her face from her hands and looked tearfully up into Hale's eyes. "You would be a good Christian woman, would you not, Tituba?" he asked.

"Aye sir, a good Christian woman."

"And you love these little children?"

"Oh, yes, sir, I don't desire to hurt little children."

"And you love God, Tituba?"

"I love God with all my bein'."

"Now, in God's name –"

"Bless Him," Tituba said, rocking back and forth. "Bless God."

"Open yourself, Tituba – open yourself and let God's light shine on you," Hale finished. "Now, when the Devil comes to you does he ever come – with another person? Perhaps another of the village? Someone you know."

"Who came with him?" Putnam asked harshly. "Sarah Good? Did you ever see Good? Or Osburn?"

"A man or a woman?" Parris asked.

"Was – was woman," Tituba replied.

"What woman?" Parris said. "A woman, you said. What woman?"

"It was black dark," Tituba explained. "And I –"

"You could see him, why not the others?" Parris interrogated.

"Tituba. You must have no fear to tell us the truth, do you understand?" Hale said gently, taking the woman's hand. "We will protect you. You know that, do you not?"

"Aye, sir, oh, I do," Tituba said.

"You have confessed yourself, and that speaks a wish to come to Heaven's side," Hale said.

"Oh, God bless you, Mister Hale!" Tituba said.

"Now, how many came to you with the Devil?" Hale asked kindly.

"Four. There was four."

"Who, who?" Parris asked, budging in. "Their names, their names!"

"Oh, how many times he bid me to kill you, Mister Parris!" Tituba burst out furiously.

"Kill me!" Parris sounded appalled.

"He say Mr. Parris must be kill!" Tituba said angrily. "Mr. Parris no goodly man, Mr. Parris mean man and no gentle man, and he bid me rise out of my bed and cut your throat!" Everyone gasped; Parris turned white. "But I tell him 'No! I don't hate that man. I don't want kill that man.' But he say 'You work for me, Tituba, and I make you free! I give you pretty dress to wear, and put you way up in the air, and you gone fly back to Barbados!' And I say, 'You lie, Devil, you lie!' And then he come one stormy night to me, and he say 'Look! I have _white _people belong to me.' And I look – and there was Goody Good."

"Sarah Good!" Parris said.

"Aye, sir, and Goody Osburn," said Tituba, rocking back and forth again on her knees and crying.

"I knew it!" Goody Putnam cried. "Goody Osburn were midwife to me three time. I begged you, Thomas, did I not? I begged him not to call Osburn because I feared her. My babies always shriveled in her hands!"

"Take courage, you must give us all their names," Hale said, by far the kindest of the interrogaters. "How can you bear to see this child suffering? Look at her, Tituba," he said, gesturing to Betty, "Look at her God-given innocence; her soul is so tender; we must protect her, Tituba; the Devil is out and preying on her like a beast upon the flesh of the pure lamb. God will bless you for your help."

Suddenly, Abby rose. She stared at something as if she was the only one who could see the wonderful sight.

"I want to open myself!" she cried. "I want the light of God! I danced with the Devil; I saw him; I wrote in his book! I saw Sarah Good with the Devil! I saw Goody Osburn with the Devil! I saw Bridget Bishop with the Devil!"

"I saw George Jacobs with the Devil!" called Betty, sitting up. "I saw Goody Howe with the Devil!"

"She speaks!" Parris cried. "She speaks!" He ran to Betty's bedside and embraced his daughter, thrilled to have her back.

"Glory to God!" Hale shouted. "It is broken, they are free!"

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**Chapter two! How did you think it went? Again, I DO NOT OWN THE CRUCIBLE. **

**Just a warning for when Hale and Tanya meet: he doesn't like her. He gives her the carriage ride because he's nice, not because he's in love. (You have no idea what I'm talking about, but you will... tomorrow.) **

**Also: I'm not going to over romanticize Hale. (Who am I kidding I'm writing a fanfic where Hale has interaction with a girl, I'm totally over romanticizing him). But what I mean is that I'm not going to over romanticize him that much, so you might get a little frustrated at how slow their relationship is going. **

**Don't forget to review!**

**~TheEpitomeOfBibliophile**


	3. And A Good Night to You, Miss Roberts

**Oi there! So I'm sorry I didn't post this last night but it took forever to type up so I'm just doing it now! Thanks to everyone who read this! Please remember to review!**

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"_Why _did you go meet Abigail in the woods last night?" I hiss at my best friend Liza, who is currently helping to wash the pots we used to prepare the Coreys' meal.

"She invited me, and I did not want to face what happened to you!" Liza shoots back. It's true; after I declined going to one of Abby's little escapades in the forest, she and her group refused to talk to me for a week. Abby and all her followers have hated me since then, so I decided to hate them right back. "Besides, I didn't know we'd be _dancing_!"

"_Dancing!" _I reprimand, shocked. "Liza, you would be whipped if anyone found out!"

"That wasn't all," she replies, shuddering. "Tituba conjured Ruth Putnam's dead sisters, Mercy Lewis – well, I'll not explain of what Mercy did, you can figure that out on your own – and Abby – oh, Tanya, Abby drank blood!"

"Blood!" I gasp. "Liza, you did all but summon the Devil last night!"

"I believe," she goes on, "That the blood was a charm to kill Goody Proctor!" This is evidently supposed to get a reaction, but I simply stand there, confused.

"Now, why on earth would she do that?"

"Oh, Tanya," Liza sighs, "Didn't you hear? There are whisperings that Abby and John Proctor… Abigail and Mr. Proctor…"

"Aye, Liza?"

"Well, someone told me that Abby and John, they –" Liza is skirting around the topic so carefully that I know it can only be one thing.

"Adultery?" I ask carefully. Liza nods. "You heard whisperings that John Proctor – John Proctor! – committed adultery with Abigail?"

"Aye," she says, her face glowing the way it always does when she's heard a rumor. Liza has an especially sharp ear for gossip, while I am all but deaf to it.

"John Proctor?" I say in disbelief. "Liza, what sort of proof do you have of that?"

"Goody Proctor put Abby out!" Liza says. "On the highroad! What more proof does one need?"

"Liza, I do not believe that John Proctor would do such a thing!" I protest. "He is a godly man; he hammered the roof to our own church, he hung the door!"

"But _why _would Goody Proctor put Abby out?" Liza persists.

"I-I'm not sure," I admit. "Let us put this to rest and continue our work; if we finish early perhaps Martha will let us out-"

"Liza!" The door swings open and Mercy Lewis enters the small kitchen. My mind drifts to what Liza said earlier about Mercy. She must be horrified. "Liza, Mister Parris – he-he… Oh, hello, Tanya," Mercy says awkwardly. She sidles around to Liza, who shoots me an apologetic look. Her raven black hair swings from under her bonnet as she turns to Mercy. Mercy begins to speak in low, conspiratorial tones, but if I strain, I can still hear them.

"Mister Parris, he found out about our dancing in the forest," Mercy mutters.

"What?" Liza asks, shocked. I cringe. "How?"

"Betty won't wake up," Mercy says, sounding anxious. "They're lookin' to witchery."

"Witchery!" Liza gasps. "But Betty's not witched! We-we were all there!"

"They've even sent for some reverend from Beverly, a witchcraft expert," Mercy continues worriedly. "Liza, will you come with me? We need to make sure that nothing happens! If they say Betty's witched, they'll be namin' us as the witches!"

"Aye, of course!" Liza says. She straightens and turns to me. "Tanya, would you mind looking after my work? I'm sorry, but it'd be best if I confessed to the dancin' and all; sure I'd be whipped, but it's better than being hung as a witch!"

Liza gave me another apologetic, pleading look, and I sigh.

"Aye, of course," I say wearily. "But what must you fear? If you are not a witch, you will not be hanged as one."

"Oh, but Tanya!" Liza cries. "Why, all I am going to do is clear my name!"

"All right then, go on," I say. "I will see you tomorrow then, at Martha's?"

"Aye, Tanya, and thank you!" Liza says, throws off her apron, and exits with Mercy. I watch her go. Liza has always been far more popular in the community than I; many boys are attracted to her long black hair and clear blue eyes. "I may be a pretty face, but you are fire itself," Liza says whenever I complain. She is not only referring to my reddish hair and amber eyes, but my spitfire temper, which has landed me in some sticky situations. While Liza is easily beautiful, I am not, and my odd-looking features are the only things that keep me from blending into the background completely. I am not surprised that Abby took a liking to Liza; she enjoys the company of those who make her look better. And Liza is so friendly that she did not decline the invitation to spend time with that girl.

Abby. She and Liza and I had all been friends for a long time, and I wonder if I am the only one who remembers the frightened little eleven year old longing for the company and compassion of others. That was when she found us: Liza and I, best friends already, and we took her in even though she was three years our younger. Our friendship blossomed; I remember whispered words in church about Mister Parris and days when we let our hair down and braided one another's locks in pigtails. Abby and Liza had been like my sisters.

And then Abby changed. As she grew older, and more beautiful, she became colder. She stopped playing children's games. She was hired at the Proctors', and withdrew from us further. Abby surrounded herself with a group of friends who didn't know her, not the way we did. And Liza and I? We stayed best friends, but Abby as we knew her was gone. Suddenly, one day, she was back, willing to do everything with us again if we met her in the woods at midnight that day. And I declined, because going to the forest was simply an opportunity for sin, but Liza, sweet, kind, Liza, went with Abby, but the next day, Abby was cold again, colder than we'd ever seen her. A month later she was all smiles again, and rosy cheeks, and she didn't ask us to do anything. But two weeks after that, she was put out from the Proctors' household and it angered her in a way I'd never seen. And now I wish for those days when Abby was 11 years old and did not know anything about the ways of the world. I wish she would let us protect her and be her friends again.

"Tanya?" Martha Corey's voice calls down as I finish scrubbing the final pot.

"Aye?" I shout up to her, then wince; Mister Corey hated yelling.

"Tanya, come up here," Martha says. I put down the towel and hurry up the stairs and into Martha's bedroom, where she sits idly on a rocking chair.

"Yes, Martha?" I ask breathlessly.

"Child, have you seen my books?" she asks. The term grates on my nerves a little; I am nearing twenty one come the end of this month! "I fear I have misplaced them, though I am not sure where they may be…"

"They are in the trunk, Martha," I remind her gently, resisting the urge to roll my eyes by just a margin.

"I've already checked there, otherwise I wouldn't have called you!" Martha says, annoyed.

"Well," I say sarcastically, "You might've left it in the rocking chair last night. Where you were reading it."

"There's my Tanya," she says happily. For some reason, Martha always finds it amusing when I get annoyed and sarcastic. "I knew I hired you for a reason. Now, go be a good girl and fetch it for me, won't you?"

"Aye, of course," I say. I hurry down the stairs and retrieve the book. My feet clatter on the steps as I run down them and back up again.

"Now, have you finished all your chores?" Martha asks, opening up her book to a marked page.

"Aye." _And Liza's, too. _

"Then go find Giles and tell him that he must be home for 6 o'clock sharp for dinner tonight," Martha instructs. "Then you may have the afternoon off."

"Thank you, Martha!" I say delightedly.

"Run along now, child, and I will see you and Liza tomorrow," Martha says cheerily, and is instantly lost in her book. So it seemed Mr. Corey wasn't home after all. I'd best find him, so I can enjoy my evening off. He probably went into town, I think, remembering what Mercy had said about a minister from Beverly arriving. I've reached the small town square that is all Salem has to boast just in time to see a man step out of a simple, yet elegant, carriage. Three heavy looking books are loaded in his arms. Martha would like him, I think wryly.

The man, I realize, must be the minister from Beverly. It surprises me, since he is much younger that most of the other men, and much shorter too; not that much taller than I. He cannot be more than 24 or 25 years old. His deep brown eyes are thoughtful and surveying, but they don't land on me as he analyzes the crowd. His brown hair is worn longer than most, and it curls just the slightest bit at his shoulders.

"Pray you, someone take these!" he says, sounding exhausted.

"Oh! Mister Hale!" Reverend Parris says. So now the man from Beverly has a name – Mister Hale. I'm not sure whether I like it or not, but it sounds authoritative and hangs in the air.

Cursing myself for becoming so distracted, I scan the crowd for Giles. I see him up front, engrossed in conversation with Hale. I sigh, and start pushing my way through the crowd, but by the time I arrive, he's already left. With Mister Hale. I start after them in, in the direction of Mr. Parris's house.

"I have a message for Mr. Corey," I tell Tituba, who greets me at the door.

"Aye, come in," Tituba says. "They are upstairs with Betty." I remember what Mercy said to Liza, "Betty won't wake up." I shrug, thank her, and begin climbing the stairs.

The words for Mr. Corey die on my lips as I approach the top of the staircase. I watch in awestruck horror as the unnatural spectacle unfolds. Liza stands with Mercy to one side, looking nervous. Hale is doing something – what it is, I'm not sure. The passion he has for his books again reminds me of Martha; she would've enjoyed listening to him. The display keeps me enraptured, and before long, all the girls, including Liza and Mercy, are shouting names of who they saw with the Devil. I wonder if their opinion has actually changed, or if they're just making something up. But Liza? She makes me wonder if the girls are being honest: as long as I have known her, Liza has always told the truth.

I find Giles in the exiting group.

"Mister Corey!" I call.

"Aye, child?"

"Martha wants you to be home at 6 o'clock sharp for dinner," I relay the message.

"My, that must be soon," Giles says worriedly. He thanks me and leaves, muttering about how he wouldn't be too surprised if Martha beheaded him one of these days.

Now that all was well, I could begin my walk home. The hill I had to climb up was long but not steep, and I began to wonder if I was hearing things when a carriage pulled up beside me.

"Are you in need of a ride?" It was Reverend Hale, minister of Beverly.

"Aye!" I gratefully accept. "Thank you."

"Well, you looked as if you might've needed a hand," he says, offering his own to help me up. I take it and pull on the firm arm as I step into the carriage.

"My home is just up this hill," I explain.

"How pleasant!" Hale exclaims. "My lodgings while I am here in Salem are not too far from there." He smiles, an easy, light, carefree smile, and I decide that I like the sound of his name after all. Now that I am closer to him, he looks even closer to my age. I have dim memories of a boy like him in my grammar school. We make polite conversation the rest of the way home, and Hale seems like a nice enough person.

"Thank you again," I say as I get out.

"A pleasure," he replies kindly. "I trust I will see you again, miss…?"

"Roberts," I say. "Tanya Roberts."

"John Hale," he says. Hale is the person that you immediately want to please, want them to respect you and be your friend. I see his intelligence and personality, and wonder about getting to know him better. "A good night to you, Miss Roberts."

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**So... how was chapter three? I actually really like it a lot. So before you go start shipping Hale and Tanya I just want you to remember that there is NO ROMANCE BETWEEN THEM! (YET)**

**Again, I don't own The Crucible. (Though this did not have any Crucible quotes).**

**Review!**

**~TheEpitomeOfBibliophile**


	4. To Capture The Devil

**Hi there guys! So lets just say... OHMYGOD I GOT A REVIEW! THANK YOU SO MUCH KAKASHI778! Thanks also to RabidFaerie and katrinadisaster for putting my story on your alert list and again to Kakashi778 for favoriting it! You have no idea how happy I am right now and how much this means to me! I really wanted to put up a new chapter right away for you but I hadn't written it yet... So here you go! Wow this is the longest I've ever waited to update, sorry!**

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"Are you unwell?" Tanya asked Hale as she slid into the seat next to him, noting the absent look on his face.

"Oh, no," Hale said, his eyes closed, but still looking quite nauseous. "I'm… I'm fine, thank you."

"Did you drink Judge Danforth's cider?" she asked. Hale looked over at her, shocked that she'd guessed it so quickly.

"Aye, as a matter of fact," he admitted. "I very much regret it."

"It probably distracted you from all the witchcraft going on in the courtroom," Tanya said with a smile, recalling the strength of Danforth's preferred drink. "Any visiting minister tends to become ill from it, I'm not sure why the locals haven't yet warned them of it."

"I wish they had," Hale muttered.

"Would you like me to prepare your dinner?" Tanya asked; Hale started: he hadn't given a thought to what he was going to eat that night – or any others.

"Aye, thank you!" he said gratefully. "I have not yet hired anyone; your help would be most appreciated."

"Then I shall come with you until we reach your home," Tanya said decidedly. "My family does not expect me home from Martha's for 2 more hours."

"Thank you," Hale said again.

"What was it like?" Tanya asked, changing topics. "The courtroom, I mean."

"Well," Hale recalled, happy to share his experiences, "It was clear that the Devil was at work. It was horrible to watch the afflicted; I had to turn my eyes away at some times." Hale sank back into the memory, reliving it.

Sarah Good and Sarah Osburn were on trial. Good stood straight and sticklike, as if she had been driven into the floor, glaring at the afflicted. They all responded with screams, especially from Abigail Williams.

"This woman comes to me every night!" she testified. "She makes me freeze, and then burn, all because I do not sign the book of her awful Devil!"

"She come to me yesterday!" screamed Mercy. "She come to me in the black of night, and she says, 'Mercy Lewis, you must sign this book in your own blood!' And when I refuse, she come back and say, 'Mercy Lewis, if you do not sign I will come again and the next time I will kill you!" The afflicted moaned, and Ruth Putnam spoke up next.

"She come with Goody Osburn, and Goody Osburn say, 'I may be old in the Natural World, but here I am powerful!' And I try to run but Goody Osburn is too strong! And her spirit, it yank me back and it say, 'I will blind you, Ruth Putnam, and then you may never tell anyone what you saw!'"

"Your Honor!" spoke up Osburn. "I have never been out o' my own house done two year ago! I never hurt these girls, no sir!" Liza screamed then, her body contorting into odd shapes, and so did the others'; their legs thrashing, curling and unfurling their torsos and arms. Abigail stopped, sudden and unnatural, giving a few more twitches before stopping and standing up.

"Help!" she screamed. "Help, Goody Good is trying-" And then she twitched again, and she calmly walked up to the judge. "Mister Danforth," she spoke in a clear voice that carried throughout the room, much different than the tortured scream of a girl in pain. "Goody Good is innocent of a witch. You must release her instantly."

"But Abigail," said the judge, confused.

"NOW!" she screamed, banging her hand on the table. And then she shrieked in pain, but not from the blow. "Help me, Mister Danforth! Help, oh, it is awful, help!" Abby shuddered again, and went calm. "Release her."

What had happened? Abigail seemed to be striving between two parts of herself. Goody Osburn rolled her eyes. The other girls shrieked. Good stood up then, and thrust her hand toward Abigail as if she was collecting something. Abigail shuddered and screamed.

"What are you doing, woman?" Danforth asked harshly.

"I am taking back what is mine," she snapped. "Let me become closer to the girl."

"Aye," Abigail said in the same strange, calm, eerie voice. "Let her."

Danforth hesitated, and Hale didn't blame him. Good wiggled her fingers.

"Don't make me do the same to you!" she threatened. Danforth blanched and let her go to Abigail. Good put her hand on the girl's shoulder and began chanting in an odd, otherworldly language. When she finished, Abigail gave one last shudder.

"I disliked your soul in my body, Goody Good," she said angrily. A collective gasp ran throughout the room. "It was-"

"Oh, posh," said Good, and the stunned judges could hardly believe what they were seeing. "I didn't expect you to struggle so much. When I was in control you were fine."

"Oh," Abigail said scathingly, "Because you know what being possessed feels like."

"Of course I do, you dimwitted child!" Good snapped. "The Devil has taken my shape many times!" Hale stood up.

"Sarah Good," he said authoritatively, "Did you see the Devil and make a compact with him?" She rolled her eyes.

"Good Lucifer! It's taken you this long to figure it out?" she asked, her tone tinged with amusement. "The Devil comes to me every night and we fly on poles and send awful spells on the little girls!" She rubbed her hands together like an excited child. "What fun!"

"Sarah Good," Hale continued, "Are you a witch?"

"Not only am I a witch," she replied greedily. "I am the witch of all witches; I am Satan's first lieutenant. We, together, will make a world of witches, of those who have signed his book in their blood!" Her speech was interrupted by a scream from one of the girls.

"He is always with her!" she screamed. "Whenever Sarah Good comes to me, he is always with her!"

"Of course he is!" Good yelled back at them. "For I am his favorite witch, I am the most –"

"Remove her." Danforth gave the icy command from across the room. Two men, great and hulking, picked Good up and carried her away, screaming that all of the people in Salem would fall to Satan's great power eventually. And when she left, there was silence in the courtroom.

"Oh, my," Tanya said as Hale finished relaying the memory to her. "Why, you at least had an exciting day!"

"Exciting indeed," Hale said with a smile. "Now that we have captured Good, and if she is truly as powerful as she claims, we may salvage the names of many Salem witches." Tanya shivered at the thought of witches – real, Devil's witches! – in her pious hometown.

"But what will happen to Goody Osburn?" she asked. Hale frowned.

"Why, if she does not confess, then she will hang," he said.

"How awful!" Tanya exclaimed. "But, I suppose, we cannot have Osburn walking Salem and afflicting the girls.

"Aye," Hale said. "But to capture the witches is to capture a piece of the Devil, and when we have caught all his witches, we have eliminated him in Salem."

"Aye," said Tanya thoughtfully. "But to kill the innocent is to kill a piece of God, and we cannot weaken ourselves when the Devil runs loose among us.

"That is true as well," Hale said, surprised at the alternate view. "But come, Tanya. We have reached my home."

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**So, how'd you like it? I'm hoping for 2 reviews; is that setting my expectations too high? **

**I don't know.**

**So wow! Thanks again to Kakashi778, you made my day yesterday! **

**Don't forget to review!  
**

**~TheEpitomeOfBibliophile**


	5. On Your Conscience

**Hi guys!**

**Okay, I've already gotten a PM about why I'm not updating and feel free to give me angry messages! But I'm _so _sorry guys! I feel really bad but I've just had so much homework, so now that its Saturday (yay!) I can finally update for you guys! **

**Again, I'm _soooooo _sorry and I hope that updates will be more consistent from now on.**

**Here's the chapter!**

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He was definitely eating less, I decided as I sat down next to Hale. In the week that the trials had been going on, I'd seen a transformation begin in my friend. I still saw the feverish light in his eyes when he spoke of the good he'd been doing in Salem: examining witches, helping the girls, and finding evidence.

"I am but a stranger here, of course," he said disappointedly. "I wish I knew both the afflicted and the witches better."

"I know them quite well," I offered. "They are my neighbors; in fact, Abby used to be one of my best friends."

"Used to?" Hale said: he misses nothing.

"Aye," I replied, looking down at my feet. "She began to turn from us when she was hired at the Proctor home."

"I have met Mr. Proctor," Hale said thoughtfully. "He seems like a very good and upright man."

"Aye, he and Elizabeth both," I say. "Abby took to them immediately, and soon stopped coming to our-" I stop. No one knew about the small afternoons where Abby, Liza and I would play in the sunshine, when our chores were done and the dame school was finished. "She stopped sitting with us at meeting," I finished. I know that Hale can tell that I'm hiding something, but he doesn't press me, thank God.

"Abby seems a sly girl," Hale observed. I laughed.

"Aye, that she is," I reflect, thinking of all those days that 12-year-old Abby would jump out behind corners and scare us. "She is – well, I'm not sure how to describe it. She is someone whom you want to respect you, see? And she knows it full well. That's how she's gotten all those girls on her side – Liza and Mercy and Mary Warren and such. They're not really her friends, of course, but they'll suffer a million whippings and follow that girl to the end of the earth."

Hale kind of stared at me, the type of look that I now know is surprised, and intrigued.

"How do you know so _much _about Abigail Williams?" he asked, and I don't blame him for looking so stunned.

"Why, I've yet told you!" I exclaimed with a smile. "She was one of my best friends!"

"She is younger then you, aye?" he said thoughtfully.

"Aye, three years. She always tagged along with Liza and me," I said ruefully. "One day, we simply accepted her." I am able to talk about anything with Hale, and I'm glad that I can share my memories of Abby with him.

"Perhaps," I said one morning. "My telling you of Abby will help you understand the afflicted better."

"Aye," Hale had replied, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed, as they always did when he was in pursuit of knowledge. "But what know you of the accused?"

"Why, what do you think me be?" I teased. "I am no Salem tour guide!" But I told him anyway.

"What know you of Goody Osburn?" he asked today.

"She be bedridden this two year past," I replied. "I never see her in meeting, anyhow, and I've been told she's been ill. I do not speak to her or of her often, but Sarah Osburn has never troubled me. Why do you ask?" I said, but I knew. Sarah Osburn had one last chance to confess, or it was off to the gallows.

"She is scheduled to hang if she doesn't confess," Hale said, looking away, and I saw determination in his eyes. A shadow of pain hung over them. "I want her to confess," he admitted. "Yet she still pleads innocent. But why bother plead innocent if the girls' proof condemns you anyway?"

"Perhaps she _is _innocent," I suggested.

"Aye, I have thought of that myself, but why would the afflicted see her specter?" Hale puzzled, and I saw his conscience attacking him, telling him not to spill her blood. But witches cannot be walking this Earth, and though I can feel more for the accused than he who condemns them, I agree. _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. _And especially here in Salem, we cannot let the Devil run loose.

"They may have seen the wrong person," I offered. "Perhaps they only thought it was Goody Osburn, but it was really someone else. After all, the Devil can take anyone's shape."

"But only with their consent," he chided. "But I wish she would confess, for God punishes all liars, and I – I know this is foolish, Miss Roberts, but bear with me," he said, looking sideways under his hair, "I do not want her to suffer more than she must, even if she is a witch."

"Why, it is not foolish at all!" I protested. "It means that you have a good heart, Mister Hale."

He stared out the window. "I hope," he said. "I hope that Sarah Osburn will confess today."

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Hale's demeanor had plunged when I entered the carriage after a long, hard day at Martha's. Liza had described all the horrors of the courtroom, and, though I'd already heard it from Hale, the story was still interesting a second time. _Liza is telling the truth, _I'd thought. For I could see it, in the fear in her eyes and the shudder as she recounted the witches.

"They beat me, Tanya, they beat me!" she'd cried, and lifted her skirts the smallest bit so that I could see the angry red skin of her shins.

"Mister Hale," I began as I climb into the carriage.

"No," he choked out, the word a strangled sob. "Not now." I start climbing backwards and murmuring an apology. "No – Tanya, stay, please," he said, his head bowed and his hands clasped in prayer. "Tonight, Tanya, please – call me John." I am almost speechless, but I climb into the carriage anyway.

"Of course," I said, seating myself next to him. "John, are you-?"

"No," he said. "I am most definitely _not _alright." He turned his face toward me so that I could see the dried tears on his cheeks. "Tanya, what kind of witchcraft expert – a specialist! – cannot get a witch to confess?"

"Don't go blaming yourself," I soothed, thinking of the sleepless nights I had spent wondering what I had done to my sweet Abby to make her turn from me. "It is not your fault. Without you, Tituba never would've confessed. I saw your kindness. I was there." Hale's face brightens marginally, but soon falls again.

"Tanya, may I tell you a story?" Hale asked, and I realize that this is the third time tonight that he has called me by my first name.

"Aye, of course," I said.

"You have heard of the witch in Beverly, have you not?"

"Aye, I have."

"Good," Hale – John – said with a sigh. "You see, the summons came in the black of night, when I had least been expecting them. A mother rapped on my window with cries that only I could answer her summons. 'My child is bewitched!' she said. I could not believe my ears, and ran down to help her. The Devil does not wait 'til morning, nor did I expect him to.

"All in our town knew of my career in witchcraft, and by the next morn, I believe everyone in Beverly had heard the night's story! The witch – a young woman by the name of Miss Errol – was put on trial the next morning, and who might you guess was one of her judges?"

"You," I whispered, and John nodded, unable to meet my eyes.

"I could not bear to watch the child suffer," he explained. "I offered to bring the witch to my home to search her myself." I gasped; if I had not known that the woman was not a witch, I would've cautioned Hale – John – against bringing such a potential threat to my home.

"Aye, it was foolish," Hale – John, I remind myself again – agreed, his head hung low. "But I could not bear to see either of them suffer! For it appeared that with every scream, Miss Errol would put out a hand to comfort the afflicted. And what sort of a witch wants to comfort whom they are afflicting? I used my books, night and day, to find any signs of witchcraft. She had no Devil's mark, nor any disfigurements; she was well respected and did nothing but plead her innocence! While I continued to show the woman kindness, the child's ailments were soothed. Miss Errol was dispatched to her home again, and no one needed by hanged nor harmed."

"And you helped her," I said. "You have met a confessed witch, and saved an innocent's life."

"But I cannot!" John burst out. "She is most obviously a witch: she does not know her commandments, and has a Devil's mark, and yet she will not confess!"

"Perhaps –" I began.

"I know what you think of me." The words were bitter, and John finally met my eyes. "I am a weak fool, and I know it full it well."

"No," I said determinedly. "You are not weak, though a fool? Why, I don't believe I have enough evidence to prove or disprove that." I'd hoped to make him laugh, but I was still rewarded with a weak smile. "You are the only person who could possibly take on this task, see?" John looked over at me, confusion written plainly across his features. "I have already told you that you have a good heart, John. And I will stick to my statement. You are empathetic, and only you would confess Tituba in such a kindly matter. And if Goody Osburn refuses to confess, then it is not any fault of yours. She had the chance, many times, and yet she refuses. Do not take it on your conscience, John. Do not take a witch's sins on your soul."

The carriage pulled up to my home, and stopped with a sudden jerky halt. John opened up my door and I grasped his hand as he helped me out. I smiled up at him.

"Thank you," I said, and turned to go.

"Tanya?" John called after me.

"Aye?" I said, my skirts swishing around me as I spun around abruptly.

"Thank _you,_" John said with a smile.

"Good night," I said as I began to walk away again. "John."

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**AW well that was sweet! **

**I hope you enjoyed it and it was worth the wait (it probably wasn't but...) **

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**~TheEpitomeOfBibliophile**


	6. An Unlikely Pair

**Hey there! **

**I know this is the day after Christmas, but hey, why not? This will most likely be the last update of this year, so I'm going to say it all.**

**Happy holidays! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Kwanzaa! And any other holiday that I missed! **

**I really like this chapter, especially since there is a Tanya/Hale ... _moment _... in it.**

**Enjoy!**

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"Elizabeth Carrigan, have you seen the specter of George Jacobs?" Judge Hathorne's piercing glare sliced into the girl before him. The dark haired girl flinched, but the intimidating man would not back down. "Will you confirm the accusations of Ruth Putnam, Abigail Williams, and Mary Warren? Will you prove this man" he paused here to gesture at Jacobs, "is a wizard and should be put to death?"

Liza wavered. She had been so sure, the last time the fit had come about her that Jacobs was certainly the man she saw. And Ruthie and Abby had seen him too. What was holding her back from wielding the authority she was meant to have? Liza was doing the right thing. It was God's work she did, and Jacobs did the Devil's. But why did she feel as if _she _was the witch instead?

It was that word.

Death.

Hanging.

Liza _hated _that word.

But then she remembered when Jacobs had visited her, by climbing through her window, and beating her with the sticks that he claimed helped him walk. His crooked teeth and gnarled hands reaching out towards her.

"Yes," Liza said. "George Jacobs come visit me last night. He climb through my window and bring his sticks with him. He say that when he is with the Devil, he doesn't need no sticks to help him walk."

"I am old!" Jacobs began to protest shakily from where he sat on the bench.

"You tell me!" Liza shrieked. "You _tell _me the Devil offer you immortality!" Jacobs opened his mouth as if to protest again, but Judge Danforth cut in.

"Is this true, man?" he asked levelly.

"Of course it is not!" Jacobs warbled furiously. "I-I am no more a wizard than you are, Mister Danforth! These girls have gone wild! I am their neighbor. Why do they not trust their neighbor?"

"A neighbor is hard to trust when he has made compact with the Devil," Liza countered bravely.

"A fair point, Miss Carrigan," Danforth agreed. "These girls have proof that you are in the Devil's service. Why not confess, Mister Jacobs?"

Silence fell across the courtroom as they waited, breath held, awaiting Jacobs's answer. Liza absentmindedly looked across the panel of judges: Hathorne, Cheever, Danforth, Hale. Her eyes stayed on the young man for a minute. He was appropriately handsome, she supposed, but not really her _type. _And besides, young Johnathan Proctor had been calling on her home lately and taking her for small walks. Liza had forgotten to tell Tanya about it; she was so busy, what with all this court business. Liza hoped that she could go back to Martha's at least one day of the week, but, as she told herself whenever she missed her best friend, the Devil never sleeps.

As if thinking of Tanya had summoned her, the doors of the church burst open and in came her flame-haired friend. Everyone thought that Liza was the beautiful one in their friendship, all long dark waves of hair, startlingly blue eyes, and fair skin that had hardly a freckle to blemish it. Tanya could boast clear skin as well, Liza thought as she watched her friend come in, cheeks flushed from the cold. Liza always loved the way Tanya's hair would light up, all orangey-gold, in the setting summer sun, and her expressive, beautiful amber eyes. Really, she thought, it was Tanya who one could see true beauty in, if one looked hard enough. Simply because one's beauty does not show immediately, or on the surface, did not mean that it was not there at all.

Still watching Tanya, Liza noted the way her friend's eyes searched the room as if looking for someone. When her eyes met Reverend Hale's, they stayed locked for a heartbeat, and then, almost, if it was not imagined, Tanya's cheeks grew an almost imperceptible amount pinker.

She was blushing, Liza realized, and when she looked at Hale, she realized that his downcast eyes and face were hiding the redness in his own cheeks.

Why, she thought wildly, could they fancy each other?

"Miss Roberts," Danforth said icily. "I do believe you have a reason for interrupting our testimony?"

"Yes, Judge Danforth," Tanya said politely, but Liza saw that her teeth were gritted and almost laughed. Tanya hated Danforth and could hardly bear to be civil to him. Liza could almost _see _the tirade of insults marching around her incredibly imaginative head. "I have orders from Goody Corey to fetch Liz– Miss Carrigan to resume her duties around Goody Corey's household."

"I am afraid," Danforth replied, just as strained as Tanya herself, "that we cannot _spare _Miss Carrigan at this time. She is in the middle of a testimony against Mister Jacobs, and we need her to complete it."

"Why, she doesn't _look _as if she is making a testimony," Tanya said indignantly. "Unless I have gone deaf or _you _all have developed a sense of telepathy that I have yet to acquire." Liza stifled a giggle, and took a peek at Hale to see that he was doing the same.

"Miss Roberts, is it your place to question the authorities of the court?" Danforth challenged. It appeared that the two _really _hated each other.

"The _authorities, _as you call them, are my age or younger!" Tanya gestured to the afflicted girls. "I do not question the orders of Goody Corey, and if she says that Liza must be removed from court, then I will do all in my power to _remove her!" _

"What does Goody Corey have against this court?" Danforth asked, raising his voice. "Does the woman wish to overthrow it? She is a close friend of Mister Jacobs, is she not?"

"My _God_, Mister Danforth!" Tanya exclaimed. "Goody Corey has absolutely _nothing _against you and your pathetic little makeshift court! Liza works for her, and Goody Corey wants her to do exactly that!"

Silence fell again, almost like the one as Jacobs prepared to determine his own fate. Well, Liza supposed, calling the court a "pathetic little makeshift" courtroom _was _going a bit too far. Danforth certainly thought so, and Liza knew Tanya would be amused if his face began to purple, or turn other interesting colors.

Sadly, though, Danforth regained his composure.

"Miss Roberts," he said, "if _Goody Corey _would like her serving girl back, I suppose we cannot keep her." His voice turned cold, and grew softer. "But this incident will not be forgotten. Remember that, _Miss Roberts." _

"Of course, Mister Danforth," Tanya said, her voice oozing fake sweetness. For that fraction of a second, Liza could've sworn she saw her friend roll her eyes at Mister Hale, who gave an almost invisible smile in return. "Come, _Miss Carrigan. _Goody Corey will be wondering _what _on Earth could've kept us."

* * *

"Someone was cutting it close today," Liza commented as she swept the Coreys' kitchen floor.

"Someone else was annoying me," Tanya replied diplomatically.

"He hates you," Liza said absentmindedly.

"Who?" Tanya asked playfully.

"Why, Mister Danforth of course!" Liza said, poking her friend in the ribs.

"Hey!" Tanya protested as the jab made her drop a small folded dish towel. "Now I'll have to wash it _all over again _and let it dry _all over again!" _

"Oh, poor, poor you," Liza said drily. Tanya laughed, and made her way over to the bucket of water they used to wash the Coreys' laundry.

"I _am _very unfortunate at these times," Tanya said with an air of mock-haughtiness. "All this _working _is so very hard. I find it so hard to drag myself out of bed and –"

"And what?" Liza jumped on the opportunity. She looked sideways at her friend and saw her cheeks coloring from underneath her reddish braids.

"Nothing," Tanya mumbled.

"This doesn't _seem _like nothing," Liza said tantalizingly. "It _seems _like something that involves a very certain man named –"

"What do you know about Mister Hale?" Tanya burst out before she could finish.

"So it _is _Hale!" Liza triumphed.

"What do you mean, it _is _Hale?" Tanya asked suspiciously. "Simply because I have ridden in his carriage –"

"You _what?!" _Liza shrieked in excitement. "Tanya, why have you kept this from me?!"

"I _haven't," _Tanya said. _"You've _been in court all this time."

"Oh." Liza dropped her eyes to her feet. "Right."

Then she remembered what she'd been trying to prove.

"But you didn't tell me you fancied him!" she complained, and Tanya jerked away from her, blushing.

"What ridiculous rumor is that, Liza?" Tanya scoffed. "I always knew you had an ear for gossip, but I didn't think you'd be listening to wild claims such as that!"

"Oh, Tanya," Liza sighed. "I do not only have an _ear _for gossip, but an _eye _for romance!"

"_Li-zaaaaa," _Tanya complained.

"Really, Tanya!" Liza persisted. "I saw the way you looked at him today, and I _also _saw the way _he _looked at you!"

"I think you're imagining things." Tanya turned up her chin.

"How often do you ride in his carriage anyway?" Liza continued, ignoring Tanya's comment. Tanya said nothing. _"Tanya," _Liza pleaded.

"In the morning, and after Martha's," Tanya mumbled.

"And you do not think he fancies you?" Liza asked in disbelief.

"Of course not!" Tanya replied hotly. "It is for convenience purposes only." Liza smirked. "It _is! _His lodgings are simply around the corner from my own home, and since _you _were absent the last few weeks, I have been taking advantage of Mister Hale's generosity!"

"Oh, Mister Hale, is it?" Liza teased. "He has not yet asked you to call him John?" She meant this as a jest, but her heart lit up when she saw her friend hesitate.

"No," Tanya said after a moment's pause. "We are –"

"I know you're lying, Tan," Liza chided playfully. "And _how _exactly did you know where his lodgings are anyway?"

Another hesitation from Tanya.

"He told me," she replied truthfully, but it was not the whole truth, and Liza knew it.

"I am your best friend, and if you cannot trust me," Liza began, hoping to guilt her friend into spilling this juicy truth, "I don't believe that I can feel secure in our –"

"Fine!" Tanya relented. Liza gave a silent cheer. "I-I may or may not… fancy Mister Hale." Liza let out a squeal of excitement.

"I_ knew _it!" she whispered, as to not scare her friend off this shaky confession.

"To answer your question, I have called him by his given name once, last week," Tanya continued.

"And his lodgings?" Liza prodded.

"I have made him dinner, for he does not have a serving girl," Tanya concluded. Liza was so thrilled that she put down her broom and hugged her friend. "What was that for?" Tanya asked.

"Nothing," Liza said with a grin. "I'm just happy."

* * *

"Why does Mister Danforth hate you so much?" Liza asked absently as she finished dusting the Coreys' shelves.

"Oh," Tanya sighed. "He had a disagreement with my father a few years past, and I'm afraid neither of them have gotten over it."

"Over what?" Liza said curiously. She knew that much of Tanya's iron will came from her father, and wondered what the judge would've tangled himself in.

"Land." Tanya rolled her eyes. "Danforth wanted the back meadows and woods, which, as you know, provides about half my father's crops and lumber. When my father refused to sell it to him, Danforth was exceedingly angry and they haven't gotten along since."

"Men," Liza sighed with an eye roll of her own. "There are so few with a drop of common sense out there." Tanya was silent for a moment. "Oh, I _said _there were a few!" Liza amended herself. "And besides, I'd hope that young Johnathan Proctor –"

"What do _you _care of young Mr. Proctor?" Tanya asked, suddenly engaged. Liza immediately perked up.

"Oh, why Tanya!" she exclaimed. "I have forgotten to tell you!"

"Tell me _what?" _

"Young Mister Proctor has come calling on me!" Liza was eager to report. "I have had no time to tell you, what with all this court business, but aye, it is true!" Tanya had to smile as her friend lit up with the news.

"And one might think that _my _love life was the most interesting thing happening to you!" Tanya teased. "Johnathan Proctor is kind, as is his father. If Mister Proctor is letting his son court you, he must have a high opinion!"

"Aye, I hope so!" Liza said excitedly. "Young Mister Proctor is _ever _so kind, and…"

* * *

"Come, Liza!" Tanya called as she ran out of Martha's. "Mister Hale will be out of court soon, and –"

"Oh, of _course _we cannot miss him!" Liza teased lightheartedly as she ran after her friend. "I _must _know what these carriage rides entail!"

"_Elizabeth!" _Tanya scolded, but she was laughing.

True to her word, Hale's carriage arrived moments later.

"Is it alright if my friend Elizabeth Carrigan rides with us tonight?" Tanya asked Hale, craning her neck.

"Of course," came the reply from inside the carriage. As Liza made her way around the carriage, she shivered with delight as Hale offered Tanya his hand to help her up. Tanya, in turn, helped Liza in the carriage.

Liza was quiet for most of the ride, watching her friend and this man converse. Up close, he looked only three or four years older than her, and the difference in his height was even more noticeable when Liza realized that she and Tanya were only four or five inches shorter than the man.

"How old are you, Mister Hale?" Liza asked, finally joining into the conversation.

"I will be twenty five next December," Hale replied. "And you, Miss Carrigan?"

"I will be twenty one come the end of this month, like Tanya," Liza replied, nodding her head towards the other girl. Hale smiled, and Liza saw exactly why her friend was so infatuated. The smile was all kindness, warmth, and good intentions. Liza knew that this was exactly what was needed to balance out her friend's reckless, but kindhearted personality.

The carriage rumbled to a stop in front of Liza's home.

"Thank you, Mister Hale," she said as she got out.

"Of course," he replied with a smile. If Liza hadn't been watching so closely, she wouldn't have seen Hale's eyes flick to Tanya, and his smile grow wider. But she did, and her heart swelled in a way that she didn't think was possible.

As she turned to go, Liza heard Hale turn to Tanya and begin to ask her a question. There was no doubt about it: the two were falling for each other. With a huge smile on her face, Liza walked towards her home and into the one thing that could make her happier: young Johnathan Proctor, come to take her on a midwinter walk.

* * *

**Well wasn't that sweet!**

**I had so much fun writing Liza in this chapter, I really didn't think she'd have a perspective in this fanfic. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Also: I'm working on a fanfic for _The Infernal Devices _trilogy by Cassandra Clare, so go read it. **

**But it WON'T distract me from my efforts on AKG! **

**Thanks for reading,**

**Don't forget to review!**

**~TheEpitomeOfBibliophile**


	7. Happenings

**Well... it's only been two years, right? **

**Oh boy. Sincerest apologies for the wait. Um. Enjoy the chapter?**

_**\- ivy matilda blue, **who has gone through two usernames and a lot of life._

* * *

He looked distracted, I noted as I stepped into the carriage, but his face crinkled up into the kind smile I was used to as I sat down next to him.

"Miss Roberts," Hale greeted me. "It's nice to see you on this... fine day."

"And to you, Mister Hale," I responded, dipping my head. "You do not seem to think this day is quite so fine. Why would that be?"

He sighed, a long, heavy sound. "Goody Osburn will hang tonight," he reported. "Today in court was her last day to confess."

I nodded and looked away, not knowing how to reply. "Will you be there?" I asked, the unspoken question of _will you be alright? _hanging in the air.

Hale nodded. "Yes. I will be with her before she hangs, to see if I can prompt a confession."

"It is never too late," I agreed. Privately, I felt a surge of anger towards Goody Osburn, not only for her witchcraft disturbing the peace in Salem, but for disturbing the peace in my friend. Yet Hale was still so hopeful.

I liked that about him.

"Miss Roberts," Hale began; we'd been sitting in a comfortable silence for a while, "Will you be there?"

I started. "At the hanging?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Yes," I repeated. "That is to say, I will be."

Hale smiled then, the corners of his eyes creasing. I'd never really noticed his eyes before, brown and thoughtful. They looked as though they could see straight through the shell of a person's skin and into their soul. If I were a witch, Hale would scare me. "I'll be glad to see you there," he said, and my heart fluttered. If the event wasn't so gruesome, I would feel that Hale was practically calling on me.

Curse Liza. She'd gotten me to admit my feelings for the man, and now it was as if I actually expected something to happen! I shook my head at my own stupidity.

"Miss Roberts?" Hale asked gently, "What are you thinking of?"

I laughed lightly. "My friend is a romantic fool." That was the wrong thing to say, and I coloured. Dear Lord, could I make it any more obvious?

Hale looked amused. "Whatever do you mean, Miss Roberts?" he asked, eyes fixated on my face. I was sure it couldn't grow any redder – I practically matched my hair at this point.

"Nothing," I managed unconvincingly, trying for a smile. Hale raised an eyebrow that told me I was in no way off the hook. I sighed. "Word choice, that's all."

But Hale wasn't done with me yet. "Whose word choice?"

"Dear God!" I burst out, folding my arms over my chest and giving an irritated huff, "Drop it!" I realised how loud I'd spoken and blushed again. "My apologies." What on Earth was happening?

Hale only chuckled softly at my frustration and smiled. It appeared to be that the burden on his shoulders had momentarily disappeared, and supposed that if my annoyance could make my friend happy, that was alright. After all, how many times had Liza given her happiness up for me, and me for her? "What were you thinking of, Miss Roberts?" Hale asked again, and I glanced at him.

"If you would, Mister Hale," I practically snapped – forget his happiness, I was too possessive of my own feelings. "Please stop."

"I understand." Of course he bloody would, being a minister. A man of God could do no wrong, of course. And I was just supposed to _forgive _him, with his ridiculously deep brown eyes that hinted at true apology under the amusement –

Dammit!

"I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea," Hale continued quietly, and my heart plummeted. Curse him and his awfully pretty hair, too. He glanced out the window.

"What sort of idea would that be?" I asked scathingly. I knew I wasn't being fair, but after he'd confessed his deepest fears and I had told him of my past with Abby, I'd wrongly assumed that perhaps we were friends.

Hale took a deep breath. "Miss Roberts, I wouldn't want you to think that I would be unwilling to put my work on hold for you."

Wait.

What?

"Pardon?" I asked breathily, staring dumbly at Hale's earnest face. "No, that can't be right." I glanced away, but when I returned my gaze to the man ahead of me nothing had change. "Repeat that," I demanded.

Hale laughed, but obliged. Most of the time I only received the first half of that response. "I wouldn't want you to think that I would be unwilling to put my work on hold for you."

I squinted. "There ought to be something about this that doesn't add up," I mused, hardly daring to believe it. "This would only be sometimes, I take it?"

Hale looked confused. "Naturally."

"And of course not during court hours."

"Of course."

"And not for too long."

"If you wish, Miss Roberts."

"Tanya."

"Pardon?"

It was my turn to be apprehensive now, and I attempted to cover it by putting on a brusque manner as I brushed my hands on my skirt. "If you're doing something as personal as put your work on hold for me, you ought to call me Tanya," I replied, glad when my voice stayed level. "It is my name, after all."

Hale smiled that wonderful, kind smile, and his eyes smiled too. My mum always said that you could trust someone who had smiling eyes. "Then I, to you, must be John."

I gave a small nod in return. "Of course." Then, feeling reckless, I added, "There must be no element of formality in these carriage rides. We are friends, and address each other as such. I see no reason to uphold the proper societal boundaries among friends, as I do not with Liza."

To my utter surprise, John hummed his agreement. "Fair points, Miss Tanya."

"I'm flattered, Mister John."

Somehow, this time, the titles were laced with something I'd never heard before. It was in no way the proper manner of addressing someone, and yet it felt so right I could hardly breathe. I was amazed by the way conversation flowed between us like a river down a mountainside, gathering strength and speed as it went on and on.

Soon, the carriage pulled up at my house, and the driver opened the door for me. "Thank you," I said to him before glancing back at John. "Good luck with Goody Osburn, John."

John's smile had a touch of sadness in his eyes. "Thank you, Tanya."

* * *

I spent too much time preparing for the hanging. My mother asked suspiciously why I wanted to go, and I replied evenly that I wished to see justice done for Liza and the rest of the afflicted. This, of course, was true. I had been raised never to lie, and so I would not, not even for a man, no matter how handsome.

Omitting parts of the truth was an entirely different matter.

"Mother," I called with attempted sweetness as I swept down the stairs, having been allowed to fix my appearance after my usual chores at home. "Are you attending as well?"

Her face was stern and drawn, her red hair streaked with grey. "No, I am not," my mother said sharply. "Louis –" my younger brother, "- should not be there under any circumstance. He is far too young and immature, and I do not want to see him in such a terrible place." Her expression softened. "You are a woman now, Tanya, and if you see fit to attend, I will not hold you back."

I wished desperately that my first true exercise of my right as a grown woman would not be he ability to see a witch hang, and I hoped that Liza's affliction would lessen.

"I will be riding in Liza's carriage," I replied evenly, and met my mother's amber eyes. A reflection of mine, she and I looked nearly identical save for the age difference.,

"Aye," she said softly, and smiled before dusting her hands on her apron and giving me a proper hug. "Oh, Tanya," my mother sighed, "look at you. You're all grown up."

I didn't know, exactly, how to respond to such a sentiment, so I accepted the hug and went outside to wait on the steps of my home. It was a humble thing that my father had built with the help of some of the village men, and I always felt safe in it. Could I still, with the witches running afoot? Would they curse me next?

I shook the far flung thoughts out of my head as Liza's carriage rumbled to a halt in front of me. The horses pawed the ground and I smiled as I helped myself in. "Liza," I greeted with as much cheer as I thought appropriate. "It's been ages."

"It's been since yesterday, silly," she teased in return, but her face was pale and drawn. There was something different about her, something I had seen in John before my arrival at home.

"Are you alright?" I asked the question impulsively, and I hadn't given any thought to the words tumbling from my mouth until the shock registered on Liza's face.

"Of course." Her words came too fast, and Liza glanced away. Suspicious, I reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Liza…" Apparently, the look in my eyes was enough to convince her, because I was soon granted my answer.

"I've been terribly ill lately," she admitted, then hurried to clarify – "and not just with the witching either. I didn't think I was witched, at first, I thought nobody was, and then they started coming for me –"

Liza buried her face in her hands and let out a sob. "I was so sick the first night after the specters left," she whispered, voice trembling. "I was so afraid, Tanya, and I am afraid – I know that you don't trust Abby anymore but she encourages me to speak up, and it's alright. The court believes me."

I watched her thoughtfully. "Did someone deign to believe you?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to push her further over the edge.

"Jonathan." Liza wiped tears from her cheeks. "His father doesn't think we're witched, either, and he told me I had to stop these lies or he couldn't continue seeing me."

I frowned sympathetically. "Oh, Liza. I'm so sorry."

She gave me a watery smile. "I'm sorry for burdening you," she sighed, and I was quick to protest.

"No. I asked. Don't worry about it."

Liza glanced back out the window and sighed. "I hope this will make it all stop," she whispered. "I never wanted anyone to die, Tanya. I hope your Mister Hale will work a miracle and Goody Osburn will confess, and give herself back to God."

I could see the desperation in Liza's eyes when she turned back to me, and soon Liza started crying and dos not stop. I sighed inwardly and I, too, wished that Goody Osburn's hanging would bring back the peace.

* * *

Liza and I were separated when we arrived at the gallows; I went with the crowd, which was alarmingly large, and she with the afflicted. I could not see Goody Osburn, nor did I want to. Liza was shaking when we parted, and I cursed the witches of Salem up and down in my head. Bitterly, I wondered if they'd received what they wanted to. Salem had descended into chaos in hysteria. Was Satan done here?

I was swept up by the mass of people, stumbling along as I craned my neck, attempting to get a glance of Liza, or even John. Instead, while I was looking in the opposite direction, I slammed directly into John Proctor.

"Oh!" I flushed with embarrassment and immediately recoiled, Liza's broken-hearted words echoing in my ears. _He told me I had to stop these lies. _Fury replaced my embarrassment and I smoothes out my dress, tilted up my chin, and brushed past him.

Proctor caught my arm before I was able to go and I turned on my heel, raising a brow. "Yes?" I could hear my mother's sigh in my mind, but she wasn't here. I could proceed as I wished.

"Isn't it awfully rude to run into someone and not apologise?" he asked plainly, and in return I stood my ground and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Isn't it awfully rude to accuse an afflicted girl of lying?" I replied in the same, even tone. Proctor huffed irritably and turned his head. For a moment, I thought he would spit at my feet.

"They aren't bewitched." His voice was coloured with pure annoyance, and I moved my hands to my hips and glared. _Oh, Tanya, _the echo of my mother sounded in my ears, _this is terribly impudent of you. _

"Have you seen Liza?" My voice was loud. Too loud. I attracted the attention of one or two spectators, and I winced. "Have you seen her crying? Have you seen her shaking? Have you seen her, ill with _terror _that the Devil's witches will take her soul tonight?" Proctor tried to interrupt, but I continued. "Have you seen her eyes, Mister Proctor? My _best friend's _eyes that are red from sobbing and blotchy from lack of sleep because the spectres visit her then, Mister Proctor, and they torture her."

I had to look up to meet his eyes but did not care, instead continuing in a soft, dangerous voice, "Tell me now she is lying."

"The girls' affliction has naught to do with witchcraft." It was not exactly what I had demanded of him, I noted with satisfaction, but nothing close to the result I wanted.

I put my hands on my hips. "Prove it."

Proctor's face was drawn. "I cannot."

I was in control now, despite the way it might look to an outsider. "Then I must consider you a liar, if you have no proof."

The man shook his head in frustration. "I have proof!" It was his turn to garner the attention of a few around us. "I simply cannot – will not – speak of it to a girl not yet twenty one years of age."

I gave a single shoulder shrug. "Aye, Mister Proctor. I see." I turned my back on him and wove my way through the crowd. To anyone watching, my dominance over the conversation was now painfully obvious.

I had the last word.


End file.
